


book worm

by sirnando



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Eddie Brock, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sub Eddie Brock, Tentacle Sex, having alien sex that is, implied to like the smallest degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: Needs more salt.They were sauteeing this time around, a new word in Eddie’s vocabulary. “No it does not.” He had no clue what he was doing—the pepper slices were already sticking to the pan, burn marks visible—but Eddie was stubborn and insisted on salvaging at least a chunk of dignity in this case. He would eat the charred, flavorless crap and even crack a smile after swallowing.MORE salt.-Venom starts learning about human existence by reading magazines - decides Eddie is doing a worse job at existing than previously thought.
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote
Comments: 33
Kudos: 627





	book worm

**Author's Note:**

> {me a month ago} i'm not a monsterfucker! {me two days after i said that} ok! so i'm a monsterfucker and im writing symbrock porn
> 
> the title's a joke even though venom is an alien and reading magazines, but i think this version sounded better than "magazine alien" // i do not own the rights to any of these magazine names xoxo

Venom was an avid reader of magazines. 

It became clear very soon that differentiating between which person would serve as an appropriate meal and which would not was the easiest part of survival on Earth—learning about humanity’s other nuances and quirks was _much_ more complicated. So Venom turned to magazines to compile this new information, rather than pestering Eddie with questions like **What is the point of hair?**

The first one it’d found had been lying around Eddie’s dingy apartment, hiding under a stack of other papers. The content inside was mainly cars and motorcycles—not enough to spark Venom’s interest, so it’d tossed the thing aside—but during one of their trips to the store, the magazines caught its attention once more.

_Food._

Venom recognized the colored pages, fixating on the chocolate layer cakes and sizzling steaks which decorated the covers. It snatched one up while Eddie was distracted, saving to read it under the bed once they returned home.

This version of reading turned out to be _much_ better, Venom decided that night, because they described what to eat, where to eat, how to eat. Venom flipped through the pages in awe, memorizing recipes as its hunger grew, saliva dripping from the tip of its tongue.

Reading became Venom’s new nocturnal activity, after it’d made sure Eddie was safely snoring in his dreams. And Eddie _had_ begun feeling his stomach hollow right after he’d flicked the lights off lately, but he’d brushed it off as just another side effect of symbiosis.

-

After the stock of new, food-themed magazines had run out for the month, Venom gravitated towards the surrounding ones—wildflowers blooming in meadows, fancy tables neatly set in lilac rooms, women holding guitars while men sat at a drum set beside them. Gradually it discovered that these papers held the _real_ secrets to surviving here. And perhaps unsurprisingly so, Eddie was missing quite a lot of the pieces. 

Venom was quick to understand and memorize, a thick stack of magazines slowly rising up beneath the bed. Reading had simply confirmed Venom’s opinion that the mechanics of human existence were odd and unnecessarily complex, but it read for the sake of making coexistence easier on Eddie. _Anything_ for Eddie.

Things like flavors and the purpose of furniture were fairly easy to grasp, but the one detail Venom still struggled to understand was fashion. Appearance had never mattered to symbiotes, aside from how big you were and which tentacle-weapon was being swung at your head, so the fact that people categorized clothes as _good_ and _bad_ seemed unnecessary. Eddie’s tattered hoodies and worn-out jeans _did_ have their five seconds of fame in certain editions, though.

Clothes, on the whole, were pointless to Venom. Constricting. Hot. Useless for survival in San Francisco. Eddie could stroll around naked at all times and he would be perfectly fine. Venom wouldn’t mind—would have preferred that, really.

-

“You know we have to pay for those.” 

Venom was caught mid-snatch one day, tendril lingering in the place where it’d emerged from Eddie’s shoulder. The truth was that its attempts at robbery hadn’t been very good—Eddie had recognized the suction-like sensation as a piece of Venom leaving his body early on. Besides, it was pretty hard not to notice the back of your shirt being lifted and having something tucked into the waistband of your pants during each shopping trip.

**Pay?**

It was an innocent mistake, really. The magazines had failed to discuss any details regarding currency and Eddie was always taking those other paper books out of the bins for free. You couldn’t blame Venom for not recognizing that distinction.

Eddie had been paying for them all along. Or, at least, after he’d noticed—which was only two trips in. He would receive an odd look from the cashier each time he pushed extra change across the counter, but the _just trust me_ seemed to settle their worries.

“You know, Vee, you’re reading all the boring ones anyway.”

 **Boring?** Venom rushed to the surface of Eddie’s skin, a little head poking out in front of him. **These are all fascinating. Which ones are not boring?**

“Never mind.” Eddie had ventured into the territory before contemplating whether he was interested in exploring it with Venom. He wasn’t—for the record—interested in explaining what a porn mag was. But Venom was relentless, and it was quite challenging to stop a thought from gnawing at you when there was quite literally something gnawing at you from the inside out.

 **Which ones are not** **_boring_ ** **, Eddie?** Venom had grown agitated. There’d been a single flash of _something_ in Eddie’s brain, but he was doing a very good job at suppressing anything else. And because Venom hated secrets, it let two tendrils seep out from Eddie’s ears, creating the same feeling as water clogged inside of them. A feeling Eddie couldn’t stand for very long.

“Okay...okay! Stop fucking _doing_ that—it’s the ones with the animals.” he swatted at his face and Venom disappeared back inside, satisfied. “The nature ones. Those are always pretty cool.”

Eddie was impressed with himself, he would admit, for successfully fooling Venom out of that one.

+++

Buying the magazines was no longer a secret after that and Eddie considered the new strategy which Venom had developed quite sweet—at first.

Because as it turned out, new knowledge made Venom consider itself quite the expert, and it insisted on directing Eddie towards what was right and wrong based on conventions—an especially unfortunate reality, considering Eddie had long been leading a _very_ unconventional life.

They started off as little things—Venom offering soft pointers while they were _attempting_ to cook. At some point between their meals of human heads and tater tots, Eddie had decided it would be advisable that he threw a vegetable into the mix every once in a while. Some soggy microwave peas or boiled broccoli stalks—delicacies that usually ended up thrown into the trash.

**Needs more salt.**

They were _sauteeing_ this time around, a new word in Eddie’s vocabulary. “No it does not.” He had no clue what he was doing—the pepper slices were already sticking to the pan, burn marks visible—but Eddie was stubborn and insisted on salvaging at least a chunk of dignity in this case. He would eat the charred, flavorless crap and even crack a smile after swallowing.

**MORE salt.**

Venom seeped into the muscle of Eddie’s arm, steering him towards the shaker, and because it was impossible to stop the motion, for obvious reasons, Eddie resorted to another tactic. 

“Can you please let me try this alone for once?” Guilt tripping—a _softer_ version of guilt-tripping. Because Eddie was aware that he was a loser, but he was actively trying to not be _as big_ of a loser. Pleading Venom to work on growth alone always worked and it loosened its grip. 

The peppers still tasted like shit. Salted to perfection—granted—but disgusting nonetheless. Eddie could feel Venom pressing up against the walls of his abdomen, forcing a distance between it and the food coming down. 

**We should not try this anymore, Eddie**. It was grumbling from somewhere within Eddie’s chest, tone bordering on a whine, and this time Eddie could not find a valid reason to argue with the request.

-

Venom started applying his tips to categories outside of food eventually. Every morning it would remind Eddie to make his bed with the covers tucked neatly under the mattress and draw the shades. It was a stupid detail, unnecessarily tidy for someone living alone, but if Eddie refused, Venom would hiss into his ear and force the action anyway. 

**Have some respect for aesthetics.** It’d stolen that line from _Better Homes and Gardens_.

 **Circular motions, not back and forth.** A tendril would slip out from Eddie’s shoulder in the bathroom, wrapping itself around his toothbrush to guide the motions.

And as time passed, Eddie began to recognize specific themes based on what Venom was nagging him about during a certain week—had begun to categorize the topics by magazine.

**That was a very highly rated song. Skip back to it.**

_Rolling Stone._

**Did you hear Brad Pitt is considering re-mating with Angelina Jolie.**

_US_ . Or _People_. One of those. Eddie had seen the tabloid slipped under his pillow the day before.

**You should rearrange the furniture into a more symmetrical structure. It will relax you. Help with your sleeping patterns.**

And you know, there were plenty of reasons why Eddie had been feeling more tense recently—considering he’d recently found a side gig involving saving the world. Reasons that caused new aches and pains to prick at his joints, blisters that Venom was more than willing to heal with a few touches, but they had agreed that their day to day would remain normal. As normal as possible, that is.

So this was what _normal_ humans did—at least according to _Good Housekeeping_. 

+++

It became routine for Annie to pop by the apartment, make sure that Eddie was okay. _Okay_ was an arbitrary description, but at least okay based on the circumstances he found himself in now. She’d learned to trust Venom quite quickly—knew that it would keep Eddie safe—but there were certain things she needed to see herself in order to settle her worries. And she did, it turned out, enjoy the alien’s company.

Annie never truly explained the reason behind her visits, and Eddie never complained—any time with her was always a gift. He’d bought coffee at one point, to have something to offer apart from his stuttered sentences and stained couch. It was very cheap, very bland, instant coffee, but Eddie wasn’t necessarily in a position to be picky. It tasted fine to him.

It wasn’t fine for Venom anymore. 

**We should be embarrassed, serving a woman of her quality this kind of** **trash**. Last month’s copy of _Food Network_ _Magazine_ had been a special edition—entirely dedicated to the science behind coffee production, with a list of do’s and don’ts regarding brands included at the end.

“We’re on a budget, Vee.” but a flush of embarrassment still managed to creep up the back of his neck. He’d have to start monitoring what Venom picked out at the store, he noted. It was getting out of hand. And besides, Annie never offered any indication that she was offended by what Eddie had given her in the cup. Though she _had_ always been very good at forgiving his _smaller_ fuck-ups.

“It’s good to see you’re doing well, Eddie.” They were standing in his doorway now, exchanging routine goodbyes. Annie’s smile was tighter on this occasion, less genuine, and it would’ve concerned Eddie if he hadn’t noticed her trying to secretly slip some magazines to the tendril peeking out from his right hip. Eddie snatched them from her hand before Venom had a chance to grasp them for itself.

They were outdated versions—ones Annie had read and reread, and were now collecting dust in the living room. “How do you know?” 

She shrugged, but a true smile now tugged at her lips. “I just know.”

“Well do you know he tortures me with that knowledge later on?” Eddie sighed in defeat and handed the magazines over to the tentacle poking incessantly at his cheek, smushing the skin. He’d lost this battle—was unwilling to fight it against Annie, anyway.

“Oh, I’m sure what Venom has to say isn’t doing you any harm. Change is good sometimes, Eddie.” her expression was sheepish now—not exactly the choice of words she was going for, but they both let it go.

**We should listen to her more often—she’s very intelligent.**

-

He shut the door behind Annie and immediately decided they were going to the store to buy new coffee. Not because Venom had decided, but because Eddie had. He was running low at home (the can was only half empty) and it would be rude to have a shortage the next time Annie showed up unannounced. As for his decision to try out a new kind of coffee this time, that was coincidental. 

**Your posture is horrible.**

They were walking down the aisles when Eddie felt a rush under his skin as his shoulders suddenly jerked upwards. “What the fuck man?” he shook off the pressure and reverted to his hunched state. Venom’s behavior was slowly becoming ridiculous—far from helpful anymore.

He chose the most expensive kind of coffee he could find— _fuck it_. And it seemed to please Venom, because it remained silent, rumbling softly at the surface of his arms. That, or it had finally learned its lesson.

Eddie noticed a tentacle slip towards the magazine stand as they passed, so just for good measure—to hammer his point in completely—he said, “No—we’re not buying those this time.” Venom was flustered by Eddie’s denial, but not enough to pass up an opportunity. It grabbed the closest thing on the shelf before they were out of reach, not paying attention to what it was. And Venom _had_ learned something after all—how to float the magazine behind Eddie’s back so that he did not sense a thing.

-

The new magazine was...different. _Definitely_ fascinating. Worthy of a read, a reread and then another reread. It quickly became one of Venom’s favorites.

And there was no nature in this one—not the nature Eddie had been talking about, anyway.

+++

Eddie had a boner.

It wasn’t necessarily a revelation—it was obviously not the first time he’d had the experience—but in the months following Venom’s arrival, those types of things had grown more complicated. 

_Complicated_ meant Eddie had refused to tend to certain _biological_ needs. It was a combination of embarrassment and shyness, really—the notion that something would be watching him. How he would manage to have sex with anyone else ever again hadn’t been resolved yet. One misfortune at a time. 

So Eddie repressed it. As best he could. 

He’d found that meditating actually worked well when it came to toning down the horniness—if he dug his nails into his palms and forced his mind to visualize walls or rocks. The real issue with the boners was their frequency. He’d tried it once or twice under the shower, teeth grinding to prevent any noises from escaping, but it just wasn’t the same. Wasn’t _enjoyable_ . It was the complete opposite of what everyone celebrated _bachelor life_ for. Fucking tragic. And after nearly two months of avoiding any form of self-indulgent jerk off session, his dick was revolting against him. 

It didn’t take a lot anymore—a brush of fingertips, a pat on the back, accidentally rubbing it against the counter. He’d left Mrs. Chen’s once sporting a halfie because she’d smiled at him for a bit too long—Mrs. fucking _Chen_. He’d buried that one deep into his memories, hoping Venom wouldn’t probe too deep—ironic. 

So there was Eddie Brock that night, in the dark, unable to remember which perfectly innocent image had conjured up the situation this time around, with his cock slowly growing harder. 

He palmed himself through the layers, still a bit hesitant. It couldn’t be _that_ bad, he thought, having a bit of an audience. And besides, holding out on an orgasm was actually a health risk. The build-up of pressure could be lethal—he swore he’d read that somewhere at some point. Maybe it was even a slice of Venom’s newfound information mixing in with his own. 

“Oh fuck it,”

He shoved the covers off, tugging his boxers just down to his thighs, the head of his cock bobbing out from underneath the fabric. He grabbed the base firmly, a sigh escaping from between his lips accidentally, but he couldn’t be fucking bothered anymore—it’d been _too_ long. 

He pumped once, twice, relief washing over his limbs. It was the first _proper_ touch in months—he’d forgotten how good a hand and some imagination could feel.

**You’re doing it wrong.**

The voice grumbled from somewhere within Eddie’s chest, seemingly lower than usual, but Eddie continued, thrusting slightly into his palm on the third stroke. 

**You’re doing it** **_wrong._ **

Eddie had assumed the first time was a mistake, but Venom made its presence clear now. He felt a rush along his legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and Venom’s head emerged from his hip, face inches away from where Eddie’s fingers were gripping. 

“I’m doing it wrong?” he stopped mid-stroke, eyes locking in on Venom’s milky ones.

**Yes.**

Eddie swallowed the dryness in his throat, but still snorted in irritation. An _alien_ —telling him he was jerking himself off wrong.

“Right, well if you’re the expert then why don’t you demonstrate?”

What he said was technically a joke—born from a combination of nerves and genuine frustration at being interrupted after he’d _finally_ gathered the courage to do this. He ignored the prick of a desire that had been floating around in the back of his head.

A smile creeped onto Venom’s face, spreading its maw open wider, teeth glittering in the moonlight. It’d been waiting for this—the fact dawned on Eddie and his cock twitched in response. His invitation echoed off the walls.

 **Don’t touch.**

A single tendril weaved its way between Eddie’s fingers, pulling his hand away to pin it down tightly into the mattress. Venom’s tongue replaced the touch immediately, licking up slowly from the base and dipping into his slit teasingly. It drew back only momentarily, a strand of saliva hanging between Eddie’s throbbing head and the end of its tongue. Eddie bit back a moan at the sight, wrists straining against Venom’s grip. 

Venom responded to the reaction and repeated the motion once more, before wrapping its tongue around Eddie’s cock like a fist, another piece of it moving down to cup his balls. It pumped up and down in swift strokes, licking away the pre-cum coating Eddie’s cock and it felt fucking _good_ —definitely better than any measly attempts he’d been making all these years.

Eddie’s cheeks had flushed completely and the tips of his ears burned red, a familiar pressure already beginning to rise in his belly. Venom stroked his cock in long, exaggerated motions, hovering after each one to build Eddie’s desperation. _Proving a point_ , Eddie thought, mocking him for his silly, little human efforts but it was working— _fuck_ , it was working. 

It was ridiculous, actually, for him to be approaching an orgasm this quickly, his legs already quivering. But Eddie’s stubbornness towards proving his _own_ point still tugged at his tongue so he mumbled, “Feels the same as always.” 

That was enough to spark a reaction.

Eddie felt the shudder surge through his veins as Venom unwound its tongue, opening its jaws wider. For a moment he thought he’d crossed a risky boundary, _God, it’s gonna bite my dick off, I’m going to be a sad, dickless man_ , but the fear was wiped away when Venom swallowed down his cock.

Eddie gasped at the suddenness, heels digging into the sheets as more tendrils sprouted out from between his thighs, winding their way up his hips.

“Fuck, Vee.” the words were drawn out, the hairs along Eddie’s arms bristling as Venom swirled its tongue. He had overcome any lingering embarrassment now, fixated on the heat engulfing him. He could feel Venom’s growing enthusiasm humming just beneath his skin. 

It was wetter, hotter than a human mouth and Eddie fucked into the maw with increasing urgency, nearly burying himself to the hilt. Venom’s eyes simply narrowed. 

_Could you make an alien gag?_ Even now, balls deep in said alien’s throat, logic was nagging him.

 **_No_ ** _._ Venom took him in deeper.

So Eddie had definitely been doing it wrong, it turned out. His entire body was on fire now, sweat coating his brow, the sharp tugs at his nipples sending pricks of delicious pain down his chest. It was nearly enough for him to miss the tentacle that had started slithering up the back of his right thigh. 

“Vee….” This was happening. The tendril probed his ass, a few touches ghosting over his hole. Eddie whimpered at the contact—this was _really_ fucking happening.

Venom pulled away from Eddie’s cock and flipped him over onto his knees with a surprising gentleness. Countless tendrils rubbed along his sides and over his stomach, brushing up against his balls as Eddie’s cock dripped onto the sheets. _Waiting_ —the word flashed in front of his eyes. Venom was waiting for permission. Or for Eddie to beg. Perhaps a combination of the two, and Eddie had reached a point where he was eager to provide both.

“Please..” he had moaned himself hoarse already, the plea barely a whisper, but it didn’t matter—Venom could _feel_ his need and the notion prompted him to angle outwards, spreading his ass apart. 

A slim tendril pushed through the ring of muscle with ease, Venom’s own slipperiness serving as lube. It’d been a while since he had done things _this_ way, but the feeling of being _filled_ still sent the same shock up his spine, thighs trembling. He clenched experimentally and the tentacle grew thicker.

Venom slid more tendrils in, stretching Eddie out before merging into one piece. It settled into a steady rhythm quickly, wispy finger-like tentacles still skimming the underside of his cock.

Eddie rocked with the movement, teeth digging into the flesh of his cheek. The tendril grew thicker with each thrust, pressed right up against his prostate. It wasn’t an isolated feeling—Eddie sensed it along his arms, through his legs, eyes flooding with black as Venom massaged his entire body. 

He mocked himself for denying this for so long, for actually considering to refuse if Venom had ever offered. It was better than any human hand or dick—and he was hyperly aware that his body was gradually being torn apart, but the feeling reigned over any pain. He needed more, more, _more_.

**We can do this all the time, Eddie.**

Eddie felt the thrumming of his thoughts being silenced as Venom curled tighter around his limbs, steadying his hips to bury itself deeper in him. 

He came soon after that, messily, the fingers teasing his cock merging into a hand to empty him entirely.

With his heart fluttering against his ribcage, Venom pulled out gently and blanketed itself over Eddie’s body. Eddie was laughing, mainly in exasperation, partially in pain, but he still managed to squeeze a, “Which fucking magazine taught you how to do that, Vee?” in between giggles. 

Venom’s answer was simple. **_Men’s Health_ **.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what u think + find me on tumblr @tomhardey xoxo


End file.
